


heorth

by plingo_kat



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Corvo Bianco (The Witcher), Curtain Fic, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 08:31:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21012821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat
Summary: When Eskel rode up the path to Corvo Bianco in the third winter of Geralt’s residence it felt inevitable, like all meetings with Eskel did.





	heorth

**Author's Note:**

> Translated by [JaneBanks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneBanks) into Russian [here!](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9230601)

When Eskel rode up the path to Corvo Bianco in the third winter of Geralt’s residence it felt inevitable, like all meetings with Eskel did. From around the time they were both six years old they had never been apart for more than a week until they left on the Path. Even now, eighty years later, Geralt still turned around and half-expected Eskel to be there, a step to his right or left with his face in a placid expression, just the hint of a curve to his mouth. Whenever they met up, once or twice in as many years, it was never any big affair: a slide of a key locking into place, smooth as the slow fade of day to dusk.

“White Wolf,” Eskel said, and only Geralt could hear all that the history behind those two words. The sentiment. They clasped arms. “Nice place.”

“Thanks,” Geralt said, equally laconic. He spied an unfamiliar horse tethered next to Roach by the fence. “What happened to Scorpion?”

“Tch,” Eskel wrinkled his nose. “Pair of slyzards. Caught me by surprise right outside of camp, snatched him up before I could bring ‘em down. Had to slit his throat myself.”

“Damn.” Geralt laid a hand on Eskel’s shoulder, solid and whole beneath his armor. “He was a good horse.”

“Yeah.” Eskel shook his head. “New one isn’t bad either. Mare from Cintra, rides like the wind.”

“Oh yeah? You wanna race?”

“Tomorrow,” said Eskel. “Don’t think you can cheat me with a fresh horse after I just got off the road.”

Geralt punched him in the arm, and regretted it. He went barehanded around Corvo Bianco these days, confident in his fingers’ safety due to his patrols of the area and the temperate weather. Eskel in his armor didn’t even do him the courtesy of pretending to wince.

“C’mon,” said Geralt. He shook out his hand. “I’ve got wine and food in the house. You can put your gear in the upstairs room.”

Eskel followed him inside, looking around with interest. Geralt watched his eyes alight on the armor rack, the paintings, the long dining table he hardly ever used. The door off the main hallway, still open to reveal the desk with a mug of cider and haphazard stack of books, a knife on the edge within easy reach of whoever sat in the chair with its double-stack of cushions. Eskel’s mouth twitched.

“You injure your ass since I last saw you?”

“Ha ha,” said Geralt, but didn’t try to deflect. Eskel was going to stay around for a while, and Geralt had gotten used to being comfortable when he sat down. He had his own _chair_ now, configured just how he liked it. Like hell was he going to give that up. “Wait until you sit in it.”

“Don’t know if I’d be able to get up again,” said Eskel. “That much padding, I might just sink in and get lost.”

Geralt opened the door to the guest room instead of replying to such an uninspired jab. In the time he’d owned Corvo Bianco he’d had guests all of never, so its function as storage space had become somewhat of a permanent fixture. Boxes of odds and ends lined the walls, stuff Geralt found on his travels and brought back in case he needed a quick bit of coin, tools and household upkeep items (he never knew how many cleaning implements one man could own), extra swords and pieces of armor. The guest bed was completely covered in sacks of – Geralt poked them – feathers, either for fletching or stuffing pillows.

“Sure my gear will fit?”

“If you could stop giving me shit for one second,” said Geralt, and inhaled sharply as Eskel dropped his bags on the floor and stepped right up behind him.

“Mhm?” Eskel nosed behind Geralt’s ear, pressing his cheek into the thin skin of his neck. He had the faintest hint of stubble, just enough to feel, and Geralt gritted his teeth. “You smell good.”

Eskel smelled like horse and old blood, with a faint undertone of white myrtle petals and saltpeter. His armor was solid when Geralt pressed back, no hint of vibration leaking through from the low growl of his voice. When Eskel gripped his hips Geralt wished for a moment he wore gauntlets, that there were sharp points digging through his loose breeches into his skin.

“I thought you were hungry,” said Geralt evenly.

Eskel didn’t answer for a long moment, mouth pressed against Geralt’s pulse. Then he stepped back.

“I am hungry,” he agreed. “What have you got to eat?”

Geralt let his jaw clench, hard, before letting it go. He was the one to call a pause anyway, and Eskel was tired from the road; Geralt could see it in the way he walked, the lines on his face. Best to let him rest up.

In between listing his food stores, he listened to Eskel’s footsteps behind him on the stairs, the nearly-silent whisper of air and creak of leather. Occasionally Eskel hummed approvingly at some particularly tasty sounding morsel.

“And I’ve got wine, too,” Geralt concluded. “More than I know what to do with, honestly.”

“You do own a vineyard,” said Eskel. “Stands to reason you’d have a lot of wine.”

“A _lot_ of wine,” Geralt emphasized. “We don’t make or sell much, but we get a lot of bottles as gifts. It adds up.”

“I heard you named one after yourself,” said Eskel. “’White Wolf’? Really?”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Uh huh.”

“It wasn’t my idea, at least.”

“But you chose the name.”

“It wasn’t my name.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“It’s not… my public name.”

“Just admit you’ve lost this one, wolf.”

Geralt shook his head, smiling, and flipped his hand at the door to the dining room. Somebody – probably Marlene – had piled the table high with food, fat cuts of chicken and cheese, thick dark bread, dried fruits drizzled in honey. Two goblets framed a selection of wines.

“Sure,” he said. They sat down and didn’t speak for the duration of the meal, tearing into the meat and bread and demolishing the fruit and cheese and wine. Geralt slowed first – he’d been eating well the past couple of weeks – and gnawed slowly on some chicken bones as Eskel filled his plate twice more.

“Damn,” Eskel sighed when he finished. He draped one arm over the back of his chair and slouched. “You eating like this all the time? Surprised you aren’t fat.”

“If you don’t stop insulting me, I’m not going to let you sleep here tonight.”

“Like hell,” Eskel said comfortably. “You wouldn’t turn my horse out on the road.”

“Could turn _you_ out on the road.”

“Uh huh.” Eskel crossed his ankles. “C’mon, wolf. Where’s your hospitality?”

“You ate it all.”

Eskel snorted, and Geralt’s mouth twitched. Point to him.

“All right,” he said, and stood. Eskel took the hand he held out although they both knew he’d have no trouble getting to his feet. “Let’s draw you a bath.”

Like most places in Touissant, Corvo Bianco had a separate bathing room that was probably a southern influence from Nilfgaard. There was a pump that directly filled a cast iron tub large enough to fit a grown witcher comfortably, and cold water was no matter for somebody who could cast Igni. Baths at home were a matter of minutes to prepare.

Eskel whistled, the first overt show of admiration since he arrived. “Nice.”

“I know.” Geralt felt Eskel’s eyes on him as he operated the pump, biceps swelling as he pushed and pulled. In return he listened to the clink of buckles and the groan of leather as Eskel undressed. “Made the decision to keep this place easy once I saw it.”

He felt the heat of Eskel’s body this time before Eskel pressed himself up against Geralt’s back. Geralt leaned on the pump handle and suppressed a shudder.

“I can understand that,” Eskel hummed. He hooked his chin over Geralt’s shoulder and Signed. The water began to steam. “You gonna join me?”

“…No.” Geralt was tempted. _Sorely_ tempted. But– “You reek. Get clean first.”

“Spoiled,” Eskel laughed. “I remember a time when you’d finished a week long contract fighting ghouls, and then rode another five days without a wash.”

“Because there was nothing that reeked less than me. It was a swamp.”

“Sure, sure.” Eskel stepped away into the bath and sighed. “Damn, this feels good.”

“I’ll be in my room when you’re done.”

“Go.” Eskel waved a hand. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

B.B. and Marlene were waiting for him inside the house, and he thanked them for their help before dismissing them for the night. By the time Eskel let himself into Geralt’s room he’d managed to occupy himself with a book, forcing his mind to follow along with the words. He looked up and his mouth ran dry; Eskel forewent armor and was clad in only tight breeches and a white shirt, ties loosely knotted. His hair was wet and slicked back along his head.

The book dropped from his hands onto the desk.

“Geralt,” Eskel said.

Geralt stood, and closed the door, and kissed him.

**Author's Note:**

> help, i tricked myself into loving eskel and now i'm consuming every scrap of info about him i possibly can. youtube vids. wiki. i'm reading the books for this man. _help_.
> 
> plingokat @ twitter


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